what
Entitlement told us
The only roads we should walk on
Must have tar
Else we'd need the comfort of shoes
As weapons
Backpacks on a farmer's makeshift wargon
We set off in the direction
Our feet were pointing
A direction we hoped wouldn't be disappointing
When it rains it pours
Till we are drenched
Our clothes too heavy
To let our limbs breathe
So they rot
Under slowly drying water
Sipping under our skin and into our bones
Dread eats us away
As we take note of the gloomy sky
And try not to scoff at the half lie
That , everything is going to be okay
With nowhere for our rotting limbs to lay
We wasted away on the farmer's
Sad little wagon
Counting drops of rain
Chewing on our fingers
Till bones peeked out
Listing all the sinners we knew
Till our names were on the far back
Praying on all that we lack
In hopes that magic truly exists
And we shall have,
In abundance,
All that we wish to have
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